


Running to Mr Lannister

by TeamGwenee



Series: Nannying the Cubs [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nanny AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: There is a blow up at Cersei's birthday party.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Nannying the Cubs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846729
Comments: 17
Kudos: 155





	Running to Mr Lannister

“Why aren’t they dressed yet?”

Cersei stood in the doorway of the children’s playroom, wearing only a lush white robe and a wrinkle reducing face mask. (Just because it was her forty second birthday it didn’t mean she had to  _ look  _ forty two.) The hairdresser and beauticians were arriving in thirty minutes, and Cersei was doing a last minute inspection of the preparations before starting her pampering session. 

“I thought we would wait until just before the party. It starts at three and it’s only nine,” Brienne explained. “That way there is less of a chance of them getting their clothes messed up.”

“They won’t get their clothes messed up if they sat quietly,” Cersei sniffed. “I don’t want two savages for children. All the lovely clothes I buy them, and they just spoil themselves, getting red faced and dirty.” She looked at Myrcella. “There is dirt beneath your nails, and you’ve bitten most of them.” Her face brightened up. “I have the manicurist coming in thirty minutes, why don’t we get your nails dont too? It can be a mother/daughter treat.”

Cersei looked so hopeful that Brienne almost felt sorry for her. She wanted to bond with her kids, on her terms and in her time. 

Myrcella screwed up her nose. “No thanks,” she said scornfully.

“I will Mummy,” Tommen piped up. “Can my nails be blue? With flowers on them?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cersei snapped. “Brienne, make sure they’re ready. And I know you’re not a guest but you are representing this family. Do try to wear something decent.”

#

The wide green lawns were filled with guests in designer day dresses and polo shirts, sipping on champagne and eating canapes served by obsequious waiters. Gentle music wafted from the dais at the end of the garden, beneath the light hearted chatter and laughter, and the clinks of glass against glass. The smallest breeze rippled through the bushes, and the late afternoon sky was bold and blue. 

Cersei, hair blow dried and styled into beachy waves, nails filed and face contoured, smiled graciously like a queen welcoming her subjects. Her red dress; which cost fifteen hundred dragons she boasted to her novices, floated with a careless elegance. She had a fond hand resting on both Myrcella’s and Tommen’s shoulders, light and affectionate. Like puppets they smiled and nodded and allowed themselves to be paraded for assessment. Cersei Lannister’s prize progeny. 

Brienne watched a little way back, dressed in the shapeless knee length navy blue dress she kept for ‘best’. Every time Tommen shyly offered his hand for a shake she tensed up, lest Cersei spot the smudged nail paint Myrcella had applied to his tiny fingers in a fit of rebellion.

“Oh Myrcella!” Sansa cooed, tottering in her stilettos on the grass “You look so pretty!” Sansa’s blue dress, exquisite makeup, nails and hair were all clearly modelled after her idol. Taena and Falyse in yellow and green respectively, completed the set.

Sansa turned a dazzling smile to Cersei, proudly displaying her brand new veneers. “You are so lucky to have a daughter,” she said. “I can’t wait to have a little girl. I am just going to dress her up all day.”

Cersei laughed. “Myrcella is going a bit of a tomboy phase at the moment. She will grow out of it, when she discovers boys.”

“I have a sister a bit like that,” Sansa said. “Always getting into fights and coming home with twigs in her hair and scabs on her knees. I’m hoping she will grow out of it, but she’s not nearly as pretty as Myrcella. A bit of a lost cause. She’s about two years older than Myrcella. Rickon, my youngest brother, is a year younger.”

Cersei’s smile turned positively frosty. Sansa paled as she realised her blunder. Sensing the souring of Cersei’s mood, Taena raised her eyebrow and tilted her head in Brienne’s direction.

“Of course, we know all about lost causes,” Taena declared in a stage whisper, just loud enough for Brienne to hear, to general amusement. 

Brienne pretended to ignore the comment. Tommen didn’t understand. Myrcella; sick to death of being cosseted and fussed over, neither misunderstood nor ignored the comment.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Myrcella snapped.

“It doesn’t matter, Myrcella,” Brienne said quickly, sensing the poison seeping from Cersei’s pores. And it wasn’t just the botox. 

“Oh, Brienne isn’t offended,” Cersei said flippantly, white teeth flashing through crimson lips. “She’s a sensible woman who knows not to be upset by a little teasing.”

“Exactly,” Brienne said calmly. “Myrcella, Tommen, perhaps we should go get you something to eat now?”

“They still have guests to greet,” Cersei said, hands clamped down on Myrcella and Tommen’s shoulders. Her nails buried into their skin, causing Tommen to squirm.

Myrcella shook her off. “I don’t want to greet your friends. Not if they’re going to all talk about Brienne like that.”

“Myrcella,” Cersei hissed, smiling a sickly, sticky smile. “Don’t go making such a drama. I’m sure Brienne doesn’t want you making a fuss and drawing attention to her...misfortunes. It is embarrassing for her.”

“More embarrassing to be a plumped up, spoiled bitch with more plastic in her than a Barbie factory!” Myrcella shouted. 

There was quiet, silence but for the faint sound of music and the chatter of unaware guests drifting from the distance.

Then, the sharp slap of hand against skin. 

Cersei blinked, as Myrcella lifted a numb hand to her cheek. Blood dribbled from where a ring on Cersei’s finger had cut the skin.

Tommen began to wail. Sansa gasped and began rooting through her clutch for a hankey. Taena wrapped a consoling arm around Cersei’s shoulders and nodded for Falyse to step in front of Myrcella, blocking her from the rest of the guests.

“Oh Myrcella….” Cersei began, eyes welling with tears.

“Myrcella, Tommen,” Brienne said, taking both their hands. “We’re going to your rooms. Pack up your things, just what you can’t bear to leave behind, and I will call your father.”

A sobbing Tommen nodded into Brienne’s skirt. Myrcella pressed her lips together tight and clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the air above her mother’s head.

“You can’t take them,” Cersei snarled, reaching out for them. 

Tommen buried himself further into Brienne’s skirt, and Myrcella jerked away from Cersei’s grasp.

“You can let us go quietly,” Brienne said calmly, “ _ Or _ you can raise a fuss and everyone will hear, everyone can see what you did to Myrcella.”

“Or what  _ you  _ did to Myrcella,” Cersei said, her lips stretching into a wide smile. 

“What?” Brienne asked uncomprehendingly. 

“ _ I _ am her mother,” Cersei said triumphantly. “You are just the help. So if I start weeping and wailing about the ill bred little bitch who hit my sweet girl, who are they doing to believe?” She looked at her acolytes hovering over her shoulder. “No one here will say they saw otherwise, will they?” she asked the ladies. Taena and Falyse nodded, while Sansa looked at her shoes.

“But I will,” Myrcella said softly. “If you say a  _ word  _ about Brienne, I will tell e _ veryone.” _

Cersei turned white, her acid green eyes and the slash of red lipstick the only colour on her face. 

“But I’m your  _ mother,”  _ she said helplessly. 

By now Tommen’s wailing had only grown, and Brienne caught sight of Myrcella trembling, even as she tried to stand tall against her mother. 

“Say what you like,” Brienne said in disgust. “Myrcella, Tommen, come on. Let’s get your things.”

#

Jaime stayed calm and gentle all throughout helping to load Myrcella’s and Tommen’s bags into the boot, and placing a wailing Ser Pounce and Lady Whiskers and Boots’ pet carrier inbetween them. He stayed calm even as he drove back to his large flat, overlooking the Blackwater. Brienne caught sight of his knuckles, white and clenched brutally around the steering wheel, as thought it was Cersei’s neck.

He helped them unpack and get the cats settled and fed them heaping plates of ravioli and sausage. He made enough for Brienne as well. There was no mention of her leaving, and Tommen was hanging off her like a limpet. She tucked him in as well. He needed lots of stories and cuddles and fussing, but didn’t seem to mind which adult, as long as he had the cats with him. 

Jaime took Myrcella to bed, and was still with her once Tommen had dozed off with Lady Whiskers up on the pillow, Boots nestled into the crook of his knees, and Ser Pounce circling a spot next to Tommen’s tummy.

It didn’t feel right for Brienne to leave without saying goodbye, so she decided to make herself useful and clear away the dinner things. She could faintly hear Jaime and Myrcella talking in low voices, and then crying. 

At last Jaime emerged, shutting Myrcella’s door softly behind him.

He met Brienne’s eyes. “Asleep,” he said, before heading straight to the cupboard. He brought out a bottle of wine, and poured himself half a glass. “Want one?” he asked.

Brienne shook her head. Jaime shrugged and put the bottle away. He caught sight of the clean dining room and grunted a thanks. Brienne hovered awkwardly in the doorway.

“Are you going to say anything or are you just going to keep lurking there?” Jaime asked wearily.

“I left my phone at Mrs Lannister’s,” Brienne explained. “And my wallet. I don’t want to go back there tonight. Would it be too much to ask for some cash for a taxi and a hotel? I will pay you back.”

The children safely in bed, their dad in the next room, Brienne began to fully realise the extent of what her actions meant for her. She was jobless. She was homeless. All her possessions were back in her tiny flat at the house. If she was lucky, Cersei wouldn’t slam the door shut in her face when she went to get it. If she was lucky, Cersei wouldn’t have set light to all her things on a great ceremonial fire.

“Can’t you just stay here?” Jaime asked. 

“Oh, I couldn’t inconvenience you like that,” Brienne said, even as she thought longingly of bed just a corridor away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jaime said, patting a hand on the sofa seat beside him. “You can have the guest room. It has an en suite, and you can borrow my clothes.” 

Clean clothes. A shower. Brienne mentally decided to fuck it and sat with a sigh of relief next to Jaime. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“You’re doing me a favour, really,” Jaime assured her. “I’m taking the day off work, but I will need to have a meeting with Tyrion about custody. And I need someone to look after Tommen and Myrcella for the rest of the week.” He turned to her, his eyes earnest and hopeful. “I can’t give you your own flat, but the guest room is yours, and I can match whatever fee Cersei was giving you.”

“Really?” Brienne asked, breathless with relief.

“Really,” Jaime assured her. “I know Tommen and Myrcella want you to stick around, and you don’t take up  _ too  _ much space. And I’ll go by Cersei’s tomorrow and see about your stuff,” Jaime promised, “Though I can’t make too many promises about it not being torched.”

They fell into companionable silence, neither able to bring themselves to go through the ordeal of standing up and walking all the way to their bedrooms. Brienne settled into re-watching a soothing sitcom episode that she had seen fifty before and needed no effort, while Jaime flicked through his phone.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. He thrust his phone underneath Brienne’s nose. “Look!”.

It was Cersei’s instagram. Pictures of her party, from the afternoon all the way into the evening, were plastered everywhere. Cersei smiled radiantly in at least two-thirds of the pictures. Eyes dry, mascara flawless.

“After what she did…” Brienne whispered, eyes wide. Some shocked indignation rumbled beneath layers of exhaustion.    
  
“What a mother,” Jaime said bitterly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Lucky kids.”

“They are lucky,” Brienne insisted. “Lucky to have you for a dad.”

Jaime managed a smile. “They’re lucky to have you too,” he conceded. “Thank you for getting them out of there.”

“It’s what anyone would have done,” Brienne assured him.

Jaime grimaced. “Not everyone. Cersei can be a fearsome foe, and not everybody has what it takes to stand up to her. Believe me, I know. It took me long enough.” 

Brienne didn’t know what to say. If she hadn’t been so tired, so bone weary, she probably wouldn’t have taken his hand and given it a squeeze. But she was, so she did, and Jaime let her, before the pair sunk into their seats, lulled to sleep by the canned laughter and the warmth of each other’s touch. 


End file.
